Dipping lightly in and out of sleep, half-seeing the movie, she imagines lying back on the beach as the sun sets, or being embraced in the grass at the edge of the woods. She thinks of fingers tracing her collarbone, lips tasting the nape of her neck. Her head just right on his shoulder, the images are wonderfully calming and blissfully not. He thinks of those fingers and lips being his, of the neck and throat as hers. An hour into the movie, her head just so on his shoulder, he feels the familiar sensation as the circulation in his arm slips from asleep to comatose. At a certain point, this, too, is romance after the kids are asleep.